Insomnia
by s3rp3nts
Summary: Likely part of a short, 3 to 5 chapter series. A. McNally/L. Callaghan; A. McNally/S. Swarek. Post S1:E7, Hot & Bothered, but before S1:E8 Honor Roll.
1. Insomnia

**Title: **Insomnia

**Rating:** M

**Pairing:** A. McNally/S. Swarek; A. McNally/L. Callaghan (implied)

**Category:** Angst/Romance/Smut

**Spoilers:** S1:E7, _Hot & Bothered_; some S1:E8, _Honor Roll_. This takes place between those episodes, referencing the time McNally was given to recover from her first fatal shooting.

**Summary:** She should know who it is, right?

Two dreams haunt her, force her to consciousness in the stale breathlessness of her apartment.

Hands, palms lightly calloused, drifting down her sides, then tugging the hem of her thin tank top up and over her head. The feel of his mouth tasting the sweat beaded at her collarbone, her hands fumbling with the button fly of his jeans, the intimate smells of their overheated bodies uncovered...

Or:

Nearly impenetrable dark, gun weighted like a ten-pound barbell in her sweaty palm. The sound of movement rushing toward her, the glint of metal in low light, the echoing roar of shots fired – some wide, others on target, the perp, or the girl, or Oliver, or even, more than once, herself…

Regardless of the dream, the sound of her own panting awakens her, the constriction of the sheets around her restless legs and thighs. And the pounding of her lustful, fearful heart.

Andy lies still and breathes – in_, two three four_, out, _two three four _– and her racing pulse slows, if not her thoughts. The sex dream again this time. Long, lean male over her, the weight of him pressing her to the mattress... Her thighs squeeze shut of their own accord, sending a belated jolt of pleasure through her. It would be so easy to finish, to roll to her stomach and… But the thought _whose name_ catches her up short.

She should know, right? Whose hands, whose mouth, whose body – but she doesn't. And it's fear that keeps her from finding out, from chasing what promises to be a dazzling orgasm. Particularly now that she is awake and can't lie to herself. What if, in the last moments, it's Sam's face she sees instead of Luke's? What if…?

In _two three four_, out _two three four_… It's too late, though: The possibility of sleep slips away to the throb of lingering desire.

The bedside clock reads just after 5 A.M. _Insanely_ early, _ridiculously _early but not too terrible for a run. She can get an early start on the day, tire herself out with laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning and errands… The sheet unwinds after a few determined tugs, and she begins.

She'll sleep through the night tonight. Yeah, tonight.


	2. Going for Distance

**Title:** Going for Distance

**Rating:** M

**Pairing:** A. McNally/S. Swarek; A. McNally/L. Callaghan (implied)

**Category:** Angst/Romance/Smut

**Spoilers:** S1:E7, _Hot__&__Bothered_ S1:E8, _Honor__Roll_.

**Summary:** He's the only dog who can hear it. Swarek's next few shifts after _Hot__&__Bothered_.

He could tell the moment she let herself out that night: the quality of silence changed. It's lasted, whatever she took with her or whatever she left behind. It keens in her absence, like a dog whistle and he's the only dog who can hear it.

One glass of freezer-chilled, 35-year-old Starka dulls the ringing and two puts a boot on its throat, letting him move through his place with a semblance of normalcy. It gives him the necessary distance to get on with the rest of it: Dinner dishes, brushing his teeth, discarded clothes in the hamper, setting up for the next shift. Sam's careful to lie down before the numbness wears off – not scared. Just cautious. Last thing he needs is to be plagued by fantasies of finishing what Andy McNally started.

So, a vodka-laced routine at night; the job during the day. The heat may have relented, but stupidity, insanity and avarice don't take breaks. Sam's next shift is filled with the usual rotation of drunks, kooks, addicts, johns and scumbags, interspersed with duller periods of parade and paperwork. Patrolling gives him something to do, the constant motion keeping the litany of_where__is__she_, _what__is__she__doing_? at bay; there is obvious danger in the stillness required for the other stuff. Quiet makes him notice she's missing – and when'd _that_ happen?

He'd ask Frank for a rook tomorrow. McNally or no McNally, there were more than enough of 'em to go around.

**RB-RB-RB-RB**

"So..." Sam feels her cool green eyes like a touch. "How is it training McNally?" Crafty. Calculating. Looking for advantage. He – perversely – likes riding with Peck already.

"How is it training any of you knuckleheads?" His eyes sweep the perimeter of the cruiser by habit, second nature. "With Diaz, it's getting him to loosen up his panties, live a little. Epstein – proving himself. And getting him to shut up. He's got a confidence problem, and it gives him diarrhea of the mouth." The light brings him to a stop and he pauses, scanning the faces of the pedestrians. "Nash. She's pretty solid..."

"And _McNally_?"

Sam resists the urge to shift in his seat – he's not some suspect, dammit. He flicks the directional, signaling a right turn. "What is your fascination with McNally, Peck?"

"None. What's _yours_?"

_Nothing__wrong__with__the__instincts__on__this__one_, he thinks, but Sam meets her eyes easily, dimpled smirk firmly in place. "Nothin' more than a good TO looking out for his rookie, Peck!" The crosswalk clears and he eases the cruiser around the corner. "McNally comes off as a doe-eyed do-gooder, but she's got guts," he adds.

Peck looks him up and down with slightly narrowed eyes. He's not lying, she can see that. But remembering the sparks between them in the parking lot of the Penny… Swarek sees a lot more than _guts_ when he looks at Andy McNally. "If you say so."

"I do. Ya hungry, Peck?"

"I could eat."

"Let's eat."

**RB-RB-RB-RB**

Shift ends over reports, Sam gladly signing off on Peck's first drafts – she's that good. He slaps the folders in his open palm, eyeing Gail as she clears up her work area. "I'll keep this in mind next time we start betting rookies in poker, Peck. McNally's decent, but it's always smart to have a back-up."

"Well, I can only hope she's as effusive in her praises of _your_ talents, Officer Swarek."

"You ask her and get back to me," he answers, his voice teasing. "I'd hate to –"

"Swarek," Luke Callaghan interrupts, "can I talk to you for a sec?"

Sam smiles, watching Peck calculate her chances of sticking around. "Get outta here, rookie. Go stake out a good table at the Penny for your pals. See you tomorrow." He stands silent as the icy blonde steps out of hearing range, schools his expression, then turns. "Callaghan."

It's a cliché, how different they are. Looks, temperament, style, background – the universe has jokes. "Listen, have you heard from Andy?" Cue the laugh track.

He can't stop the frown that pinches his brow. "Uh, no, not since just after the shooting." Not since she'd walked out of his place with the same light step as she'd walked in. "Why – what's the matter?"

Sam winces inwardly as the detective's gaze sharpens on him. Go all day avoiding Peck's innuendoes only to buckle at the first question from Callaghan. "I haven't heard from her either." Luke shifts the box on his hip to a more comfortable position. "Listen, I wouldn't ask, but…"

"'But' what, Callaghan?"

After a glance around the bull pen, Callaghan meets Sam's eyes again. "She depends on you, alright. I know that." When Sam doesn't dispute it, he continues. "And I have that case, the girls, for 15."

"Yeah, fine… 'But' what?"

"Can you go over and check on her?"


End file.
